Mrs Bolton was most attentive and polite, seemed quite nice, spoke with
a bit of a broad slur, but in heavily correct English, and from having
bossed the sick colliers for a good many years, had a very good opinion of
herself, and a fair amount of assurance. In short, in her tiny way, one of
the governing class in the village, very much respected.
`Yes, Lady Chatterley's not looking at all well! Why, she used to be
that bonny, didn't she now? But she's been failing all winter! Oh, it's
hard, it is. Poor Sir Clifford! Eh, that war, it's a lot to answer for.'
And Mrs Bolton would come to Wragby at once, if Dr Shardlow would let
her off. She had another fortnight's parish nursing to do, by rights, but
they might get a substitute, you know.
Hilda posted off to Dr Shardlow, and on the following Sunday Mrs Bolton
drove up in Leiver's cab to Wragby with two trunks. Hilda had talks with
her; Mrs Bolton was ready at any moment to talk. And she seemed so young!
The way the passion would flush in her rather pale cheek. She was
forty-seven.
Her husband, Ted Bolton, had been killed in the pit, twenty-two years
ago, twenty-two years last Christmas, just at Christmas time, leaving her
with two children, one a baby in arms. Oh, the baby was married now, Edith,
to a young man in Boots Cash Chemists in Sheffield. The other one was a
schoolteacher in Chesterfield; she came home weekends, when she wasn't asked
out somewhere. Young folks enjoyed themselves nowadays, not like when she,
Ivy Bolton, was young.
Ted Bolton was twenty-eight when lie was killed in an explosion down
th' pit. The butty in front shouted to them all to lie down quick, there
were four of them. And they all lay down in time, only Ted, and it killed
him. Then at the inquiry, on the masters' side they said Ted had been
frightened, and trying to run away, and not obeying orders, so it was like
his fault really. So the compensation was only three hundred pounds, and
they made out as if it was more of a gift than legal compensation, because
it was really the man's own fault. And they wouldn't let her have the money
down; she wanted to have a little shop. But they said she'd no doubt
squander it, perhaps in drink! So she had to draw it thirty shillings a
week. Yes, she had to go every Monday morning down to the offices, and stand
there a couple of hours waiting her turn; yes, for almost four years she
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